A Twist in Time
by PhantomLilac
Summary: Comte Charles Mulheim didn't die at the time of the birth of his son, Erik Mulheim. Now growing as a respectable Vicomte, Erik soon accepts his difference and falls in love with a certain soprano. But with her fear ridden past, and his stubborn personality conflicting, what lengths will Erik take to win her heart? E/C Alternate LND
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: To those who will inquire, the Harry Potter crossover is on hiatus. I have started the first few chapters but I am going to rework them so they are more true to the characters. Thank you for your patience.**

**-PhantomLilac**

.::.

**Charles Mulheim**

The doctors refused to let me into the room. I could hear murmuring and crying from the inside, no doubt from Madeleine.

I drummed my thumbs against my knee. What was taking so long, and how long should I wait?

At last there was sudden silence, and a new sort of cry emerged from inside the room. My heart fluttered...this was the sound of my child, my newborn son or daughter. I expected an overjoyed shriek from Madeleine, but instead was a shriek of anguish and alarm.

I opened the door, forcing myself at her bedside, where her hysterical fears began to unravel.

"Madeleine, what is it, what's wrong?" I asked as firmly as possible. I took her frail hand in mine, where she jerked her other to point at the swaddled bundle in the doctor's arms.

I pulled myself away from her side, taking the bundle from the man, and pulled down the sheet covering my newborn's face.

"Comte Mulheim," the doctor stammered, "would you like the child removed from the household?"

I paused, staring at the babe. It was a boy indeed, but half of his face...oh how hideously it was marred. I thought for a moment, could I dare send this child away for slaughter, this child that is mine? No, I couldn't bear to have my only son murdered in cold blood by those unable to accept a deformity?

"No, I wish to keep my son," I said numbly, hugging him to my chest.

Madeleine growled furiously, "It's a demon, Charles! It isn't a product of god...how can you keep it?"

My eyes widened in horror at the words ebbing from my own wife's mouth.

"Madeleine, this is our child. How can you say such a thing about our innocent son? Get some rest, you are exhausted, but he is the sole Vicomte of this household."

With that, Madeleine wretchedly yelled at me to leave her alone, and several spitting curses, I stormed off, still holding the child gently in my arms.

I sat outside on the front porch, where my son began to cry uncontrollably. Nervously, I rocked him back and forth, and finally, after settling down, opened his eyes.

How strange his eyes were, these glowing orbs of amber. I had never seen them before in such a marvelous shade.

I smiled.

"What a puzzle you are, little one," I cooed.

He stirred, before letting his eyes fall shut.

"Quite an enigma indeed. What could I name such a curious fellow?" I continued in a remark.

Then it hit me...the name of my great-grandfather, Erik. Erik Mulheim, my son, the Vicomte Mulheim. Why, I would raise him upright and dandy, and raise him not to be afraid of the outside world. He would be my perfect little angel...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I am sorry if this chapter is short, it mainly sets the stage for the next few chapters. Thanks for reading, I do hope everyone will enjoy this fanfic! :)**

.::.

**Erik Mulheim**

When I was young, my mother and father were divorced. I was told by my father not to be sad, for her wretchedness cost her into losing the rights to see me. I would not understand why they split up until later in life.

As soon as I was able to talk, my father hired a nanny to tend to me and be the motherly figure in my life. I really enjoyed her company on my lonely days as a child. Her name was Antoinette Giry, but it was insisted she be called Mademoiselle Giry.

Father told me he wanted to marry Mademoiselle Giry once. He had been deeply in love with her, and although she loved him back, she had been engaged to a terrible man named Alfonzo, who refused to let her annul the engagement and marry my father.

A few years would pass and I would turn seven years old. Father tried to see other women, but his hear had been aching to be with the now-named Madame Giry. When I was seven, I got my first mask, and was allowed to come with my father to public events on an occasion. I was taught what was polite and what was unmannerly, and as I aged onto ten, I would get to meet my cousins.

Raoul deChagney and Phillipe deChagney were odd brothers. They argued over little things, but although I could tell they disliked my mask, I got along with them fine. They included me to the best of their ability in little games of hide-and-seek, and invited me to dinner with them.

I think I got along the best with Raoul growing up. Phillipe just grew more and more distant.

Then my father died of pnuemonia when I was nineteen years old. I became bitter, intimidated, and afraid...there was no one left to shield me from the world whom, majority, hated me. I didn't spend time with the deChagneys, I didn't spend time with anybody.

I was alone in my own square of the universe, my manor was mine, I was rightfully the Comte Mulheim.

It was around this time that Madame Giry arrived with her adolescent daughter, Meg, begging for a place to stay. She had told me Alfonzo had committed suicide when he learned his family had all gone bankrupt.

Naturally fond of my former nanny, I allowed her to stay, including my estranged half-sister, Meg. I supplied them with food, shelter, though they still did not have jobs.

In my address book, I looked for something the both of them could do...of course, I contacted an old friend of my father's, the owner of the Paris Opera House, and had them supplied with beneficial jobs.

Finding a bit of hope in me, I began to communicate with Raoul deChagney again, to which we began to write letters to each other. Soon, I discovered Phillipe was the new Comte, and their parents had been killed in a train accident, and all three of us grieved together.

I did not know that my life was going to turn around with the flick of a wrist...when I ordered for Box Five at the Paris Opera House.

As I casually sat in waiting with my two cousins, the curtain pulled, and my life changed forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Christine Daae, hours before Hannibal**

Meg and I had our rehearsals for Hannibal quickly. It was usual for Carlotta to storm off, but hopefully she would come back, right?

Before I could begin to leave, the managers began to fuss over a young man who had entered. I looked up, staring at him.

He was a handsome young man with golden brown locks, and eyes teal and full of mischief as he spoke to the managers.

I nudged Meg, who aroused her attention to the man.

"Who's that?" I whispered to her. She grinned suddenly.

"That's my cousin, Raoul deChagney. He's very nice, would you like to meet him?" Meg squealed. Before I could respond, she had my hand in hers and was dragging me awkwardly across the stage.

"Oh, hello Meg!" Raoul socially chirped, suddenly turning away from the managers. Andre and Firman's eyes crossed with confusion.

"Monsieur, you know Mademoiselle Giry?" Flabbergasted, Andre stammered.

Raoul nodded, patting Meg on the back, to which she giggled.

"Ah yes, she is my cousin, Monsieur Andre. Quite a fine one indeed. You'll meet her elder brother, Comte Erik Mulheim, tonight at the performance." Raoul continued.

"Comte!?" Firman echoed in disbelief. Meg nodded.

"My brother is the Comte. I'm sure you'll find him quite delightful." she replied

I pulled Meg aside, startled by this news myself.

"Meg, you never told me your brother was the Comte Mulheim!" I gasped. She guiltily flushed.

"Sorry, Christine. I forgot to tell you. I didn't know him until two years ago. His father and my mother were separated before I was born," she admitted. Suddenly, her sadness spread away, and just like that she gleefully smiled.

"But Erik is super sweet, I hope you two will get along fine!"

I clumsily followed her back for our second rehearsals, dancing along, while the managers fretted over who to place in Carlotta's role. The whole time I kept thinking to myself, where did the name Erik come into familiarity?

I shrugged it off, as we concluded our lessons, Andre and Firman both announced we might have to cancel the show, due to a loss of our so-called diva. Before anyone could make a suggestion, Meg's voice shrilled:

_"Christine Daae could sing it, sir!"_

.::.

**Erik, ten minutes before Hannibal**

Raoul nudged me in our box seats with a cheeky grin.

"Why do you look so uncomfortable, cousin?" he teased gently.

I furrowed my brow.

"As much as I do enjoy music, Raoul, I dislike public events," I mused. Raoul rolled his eyes, a scowl on his face.

"That's the problem, isn't it? Your father has led you in a sheltered life-"

"Don't you dare speak of my father in such a tone," I snapped, losing my temper, "he was so kind to me when the world was despicable and cruel. Cousin, there are certain limits you can pass, but do not push mine."

I crossed my arms, intently staring at the stage. Phillipe sighed, shaking his head.

"Erik, you know my brother is only trying to help," he reasoned.

"I am aware of what is helping or not, Phillipe," I grunted. My gaze landed on my pocket watch. Hannibal would start in less than three minutes, hopefully. The only reason I had agreed to come, was to see Meg perform. I wanted to make up for not being a part of my only sibling's life for so many years.

The curtain pulled at eight sharp, on queue. The dancing was bland at first, until at last there came a solo, soprano singer.

I straightened myself up. I recognized this young woman!

Her face beamed as she sang a beautiful song about heartbreak. Those brown curls, those knowing emerald eyes, my, it couldn't be!

I had been eight years old when the violinist and his daughter stayed at our home for a brief time at the hiring of my father to play for regal balls and other recreational events. His name had been Gustave Daae.

His daughter and I played chess occasionally. She had been very good at it, but very timid and shy to talk to. Her name had been Christine.

I couldn't help but chuckle a bit. This gawky, shy girl was suddenly the hit of Paris. How extraordinary! How peculiar!

I clapped as she finished with a large vocal drive.

"Bravo! Bravo!" I called gleefully. The one rose that I had brought along, I tossed onto the stage. Christine Daae...I had to go see her for myself.

Raoul tapped my shoulder as I stood up to leave.

"Where are you going?" he asked politely.

"I need to talk to someone. I will be back shortly." I mused, brushing past and down the hall. I shifted my mask upright and perfect on my face. Madame Giry bumped into me in the hallway.

"Erik, I am glad you came!" she bellowed, and before I could object, wrapped her arms around me in a hug. I pushed her gently away.

"I am glad as well...do you know where Christine Daae happens to be?"

She raised her eyebrow in confusion and questioning, before she responded.

"Her dressing room is number 28. Any particular reason?"

"Old friend. Thanks, Madame," I mumbled. I scurried my way to the dressing room.

There it was, with a faded gold plaque with the number 28 on it. I reached my hand to knock, but found myself hesitating. Would she find it odd, would she even recognize me?

Finally finding the strength in spite of doubt, I knocked three times on her door.

"Who is it?" she called, swinging it open.

I grimaced on the inside from her wide-eyed stare of shock. She probably didn't recognize me at all, I thought bitterly.

"Christine Daae, it is a pleasure to be acquainted again," I cordially began.

Suddenly, Christine smiled.

"Oh, I know you, monsieur! You're the Comte's son...your name is..."

"Erik. Erik Mulheim. Sadly, the Comte you knew passed on three years ago, I am the Comte in standing," I explained.

"I am so sorry. He was a pleasant and kind man." Christine murmured, drifting off, before she bounced back to reality, "You don't happen to be the brother of Meg Giry?"

Oh, how delightful, Meg is a chatterbox, I thought stubbornly.

"Yes, actually, she is. Are you friends?"

"Meg and I are very close friends. Monsieur, if you don't mind me, I need to get some rest soon."

She began to shut the door, but I caught it.

Awkwardly, I swallowed.

"It's fine, but...would you like to come for dinner? It does get boring with just Meg and Madame Giry for company, if you would like to accompany me."

For a moment, her lips pursed as she got deep in thought.

"Al-alright, but just tonight," she returned, then shut the door. Patiently, I waited. I had never felt this excited in my life...a _real_ person was going to be at dinner tonight. I brimmed with joy...oh, no woman had ever come for dinner. I would make it the best night for Christine as I could.


	4. Chapter 4

**Erik**

I stood, waiting outside the door gawkily for a few spare minutes, until she opened the door, in a decent dress and a lovely red scarf. I smiled, recognizing the scarlet fabric around her neck.

"It's funny you wear that scarf, Christine," I remarked. She let out a light laugh, a heavenly chirp.

"Because you ran out to the sea to fetch it!" she exclaimed.

She hooked her arm politely underneath mine. Raoul was already waiting at the box.

My cousin waggled my eyebrows suggestively at me, this immature smirk on his face.

I sent him a death glare, to which he shrank under his skin. Only then did my pleasant smile return.

"Miss Daae will be dining with me tonight. Am I still allowed a carriage ride home?" I asked.

Phillipe interrupted Raoul before he could make some stupid answer.

"Of course, we may drop you two off at the Mulheim Manor. Raoul, why don't you get the horses a carrot or two before we are off?" Phillipe suggested, eyeing his brother with a deep glare. Raoul nodded, still cheekily smirking at us, before he headed off.

.::.

I pulled out a seat for Christine, allowing her to sit. I politely pushed her chair in at the dining table.

The arousing smell of roasted ham and caramelized potatoes hit my nostrils as I took a seat across from her, beside Madame Giry.

"Well, this is a delightful surprise, is it not?" Christine happily cooed. I nodded in response, slowly taking a bite into my ham, and chewing with caution. It always was awkward to eat with my mask on...but I didn't dare let that ruin my dinner with my guest.

Meg happily chattered on with Christine between bites, the two best friends like a couple of annoying mockingbirds, chittering about how their lives are so swell and peachy, while I focused on eating.

Madame nudged me, concern hitting her gaze as I painfully swallowed.

"Erik, do you need me to stall dinner so you can go eat in another room? I know how hard it is to eat with your mask on," she whispered empathetically.

"I shall be alright, Madame Giry," I dizzily replied. This painful chewing was making my jaw and head ache with a terrible throbbing.

"You sure? You don't look well," she persisted in upmost concern. I shook my head, letting out a quiet sigh.

Christine must've caught on, for she stopped talking to Meg and turned to me.

"Monsieur, are you alright? You look like you're going to faint," she yelped.

"I am fine, really. My mask is just a bit painful to wear, but it is not a dilemma to fuss over. Are you enjoying your meal?"

She didn't seem satisfied, for she scowled.

"You don't have to wear your mask, Monsieur, I'm sure your injury is nothing too bad. I don't want you to hurt because you're hiding under it," Christine softly suggested.

Meg sent her a look of sheer horror. I swallowed. Had she really asked me to remove my mask? My whole body went numb.

"Christine, you don't ask that question here, not to be rude or anything," Meg whispered.

"I've known him since childhood...I'm certain it's not that terrible. It's alright, Erik, you can take it off."

When I shook my head, she calmly reached for it, as if to take it off herself. I flinched, pulling out my chair and fleeing. No! No, she could not see, she would resent me forever!

"Erik!" Madame Giry called after me, but I had already been out the front door and slammed it.

I grasped the railing, panting for breath. I felt the panic ensuing...my mask, she could not see! She could not see the monster underneath...

"Monsieur Erik, I'm sorry to frighten you!"

Oh drat! The girl had followed me, and she sounded dearly upset.

I turned to face her, my eyes burning.

"_Please_ go back inside, I will be fine...I am just-I can't-I don't want to frighten you," I tripped over my words, intimidated by her presence. I had known Christine since childhood and yet for years I had not ever truly known her, but I know she would be disgusted with my face.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright." she began to open the door, when I turned back to face the night sky, those innocent, fine stars glistening against the darkness I so accepted

I felt the silence of the breezy, shadowed landscape calm me with an essence.

Too late, Christine's hands had reached for my mask, and tore it up and off of my head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Christine**

I didn't think pulling off his mask would do any harm. I thought, after seeing it occasionally as children, I wouldn't be disturbed by it, or that I wouldn't hurt him.

As soon as I saw it, I gasped in alarm, not only by the features of Erik's face, but his equally as terrified reaction.

He dropped to his knees, letting out a frightened shriek, and used his hands to cover the half of his face as he spiraled into uncontrollable sobbing. I clutched the mask with an iron grip, pressing it against my chest as I looked away, unable to bear witness to this catastrophe.

After forever of us both crying, suddenly one hand reached out towards me. Slowly I backed away, still in utter shock...oh, what was wrong with me? Why couldn't I see past his face?

"My mask...please, my mask...oh, Miss Christine," he shakily whimpered.

Gently, I loosened my grip on the mask and left it in his hands. He turned away briefly, inserting the mask back into place, before illy opened the front door.

"Mademoiselle, Madame Giry shall escort you home." his voice was raspy and strained, the other half of his face as white as his mask. All I could see now was a wounded animal, as if I had hit him with a carriage.

"Monsieur le Comte, I am so sorry-" I began, but he cut me off.

"Don't be sorry, I am used to the staring by now," Erik dully replied. He shut the door behind us, and when I looked over my shoulder, he had vanished. I shook my head sadly, and went off to gather my purse.

.::.

**Erik**

Anguish hit me like a stinging bee. She had seen my face...my heart broke in two. There was no happiness in my life, and my chances to even make a friend out of Christine Daae had been ruined. Maybe, it could've been even more...I wanted more...

No, here I was, selfish Erik! Bad, Erik, I scolded myself. Why lust for what you _cannot_ have?

I rubbed my eyes tiredly, slumping against the pillows of my bare, empty room. My once again bare face hit the cushion and snuggled protectively against the fabric's embrace.

Tomorrow I would visit my father's grave, and seek advice from his wavering spirit. Oh Father, what was I to do with myself? I scared the only woman I had contact with that wasn't blood related away.

I couldn't go back to the Opera House, I silently concurred. I just couldn't, it would break my heart.

I curled into a tight ball against my pillows, remembering the lash of my mother's hand against my cheek as a toddling child, the anguished cries emitting from me as I watched my parents fight, clueless as to what was going on.

Then my mind flashed to three years before...oh Father, why did you have to die? Why did you leave me here? I know nothing of the world...I don't know how to love someone. And no one knows how to love me.

I rocked back and forth, tormented by these demon memories echoing past in faded whispers...

.::.

**Erik's Flashback**

"What's wrong with him?" I cried, glaring the doctor down through my widened eyes. My clenched my teeth, knowing the answer already.

"The Comte has pneumonia. Vicomte Mulheim, I suggest you prepare for the worst," the doctor explained.

Agony gripped my heart...pneumonia? Pneumonia!? My poor, poor father...in my grief, I grew violently enraged.

"You're the doctor here, give him medicine! Fix him, he is the Comte Mulheim! There will be no worse, there will be better...please do something," I snarled in a begging manner.

The doctor sadly shook his head. My chin scrunched up as I withdrew from tears, turning away in horror and grief.

Raoul pushed up past me, even more angrier than I.

"This is my uncle we're talking about. You're just giving up on him!? He's a noble, monsieur! Do something or I will see you in court for the murder of the Comte!" Raoul defiantly howled. Philippe gripped his shoulder, tearing him away before he could punch the supposed 'health professional' square in the face.

"Raoul! You can't smack everyone around because nothing can be done. Charles is dying!" Philippe snapped. He must have forgot I was watching the whole thing, for the moment he could see the traumatized expression in my eyes, and the tears dribbling from underneath my mask, regret entered his gaze.

"Erik, I'm sorry...I didn't mean it like-" He reached out to comfort me, but I pulled away, my cape swirling and thwacking him across the jawline.

"You are all selfish, every last one of you! I know exactly what you meant...you all think he's dying. My father is healthy, and he will live!" I screeched, turning and fleeing down the hall towards my father's bedroom.

I didn't hear footsteps following me, for heaven's sake, I was relieved. I gently shut the door behind me.

My father looked weak, pale, and tired. I sighed softly as he turned his head and smiled at me, his bluish lips exhausted and hushed.

"Erik, come sit by me, I am glad to have your company," Father croaked hoarsely, his teal eyes settling on my face.

I pulled up a chair, sitting at his bedside and feeling his palm. I winced at how freezing cold he was. I enclosed both of my hands over it, desperate for his health to return. I wanted a spark of warmth, but hope was fading.

"You're going to be okay, Father, I promise," I murmured.

"Would you please remove your mask, my dear boy? There is no reason to hide from me." he crooned gently.

With hesitation, I removed my mask, awaiting his response. Charles only smiled pleasantly.

"You're going to be a fine, handsome young man, Erik. I promise you, when I am in heaven, I will send you an angel to watch over you. Do you trust me?"

I paused, then nodded, and his frail hand reached up and brushed every scar mark across my face, when suddenly, he let out a short breath, and his hand fell limp and onto the bed.

In silence I sat, when panic and desperation seized me.

_"Papa!?"_ I cried in a childlike voice that came out shrill and squeaky. I pressed my fingertips against the side of his neck, only to find there was no pulse.

A wretched sob escaped my lips as I stared at my father. He couldn't die...he said he would always be there for me, always! Where was he now!?

"No! No, I don't want an angel," I screamed, _"I want my father,_ bloody hell, I curse you, you merciless god! Vile, merciless god! I hate you!"

Burying my face into the palms of my hands, I shriveled up and died there, my heart melting away as I sobbed. At some point, both Raoul and Phillipe came in, I felt their hands sympathetically rest on either side of my shoulders. I didn't care, I kept crying...what was I going to do?

"Erik...I'm so sorry," Phillipe rasped in horror, but I didn't respond. When I finally wiped away the last of my tears, I stared motionlessly for hours at the wall, and at night I laid upon my bed, the ceiling seemed to be my only friend, that blank, empty ceiling, because it was the only thing that did not remind me of my father.

I tried to sleep, but I found I could not even shut my eyes for over a few seconds, as I would be plagued with horrible nightmares.

"I will never have children," I bitterly cried, "no one needs to grieve at the loss of their parent."

I would never love again...I would never love again...


	6. Chapter 6

**Christine**

Dawn approached, and I was already roaming the streets, making my move towards the cemetery. I shuddered, wrapping my coat tighter around my small-framed shoulders.

It was cold, and the sun was only just approaching over the horizon. I turned the corner and stepped into the shadowy graveyard, seeking out my father's grave.

There it stood, the chamber of his remains inside. I knelt down, beginning to pray, when suddenly a noise fluttered to my ears.

It was the pleasant sound of a violin. Immediately I whispered, "Father?"

It could not be my father, the great violinist Gustave Daae, for it was much more beautiful a sound, I hated to admit, then my father's.

I finished paying my respects to my father, before I rose in search of the entrancing, unknown violinist in the graveyard. I had to know...it was such a beautiful piece that I was immensely drawn to its magical muses.

I paused. The sound was coming from a man in a cloak and fedora. He didn't see me, as he stood in front of a prominent and well displayed grave of a noble.

In the drawings of the strings, I felt all the heartbreak and despair of his song. Who was this mysterious man?

For the meantime, although after last night I did not desire to talk to anybody, I wanted to praise this man for his outstanding performance. If only someone like him was conducting the orchestra for our Opera House!

When he finished, the bow pulling to a halt against the heavenly strings, I approached out of hiding.

"Bravissima, monsieur!" I called.

When he flinched and rushed to his violin case, I was confused at first, before I got a good glance at the name on the grave. The head of the chamber read, "Comte Charles Mulheim. A wonderful and compassionate man, husband, and father. He will be dearly missed."

Oh god, the man on the violin was Erik! I gritted my teeth, regretting scaring him off again. I wanted to make it up to him...how I had embarrassed and disgraced him.

He had begun to flee again, when I stopped him with my pleas.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to disturb your vigil, but your music was beautiful," I hastily, and much awkwardly, cried.

He sent me a mournful stare, but underneath I saw his bare cheek turn hot and red with resentful embarrassment.

"All do respects, Mademoiselle, I would prefer to keep our relationship at a professional level," Erik grumbled. He snatched his sealed case off the ground, stoically walking away with the handle tight in grip.

I sighed, rushing up behind him and grabbing his hand as he walked. Once again, he winced, and I was left in so much confusion a he suddenly brushed me aside, trembling with grief and the brink of fury.

I stubbornly persisted, "I'm sorry I took off your mask, monsieur, and was frightened. I didn't mean for it to happen, but you don't need to avoid your friends who are trying to help you!"

"And what would you know about helping others!? All you've ever done is play hopscotch and sing. I wasn't allowed outside to meet anybody or make friends until I was eight. Please leave me alone, stupid girl!" Erik snapped. I could hear the violin case clattering under his unsteady grip, hostility filling his glare.

I was even more so angry now. Why couldn't he accept my apology and move on? Why did he hold grudges against me? I regretted even complimenting him now.

"You want to be difficult? Fine. Goodbye, Comte Mulheim."

I began to leave him, when I turned and watched his moves from behind a statue cautiously as he went about his business back to his father's grave, on his knees in the cold, dew covered grass, hands pressed together, and eyes squeezed shut.

"Father," Erik began painfully, "what is my purpose in life? Please send me a sign, please...I'm not _ready_ to be a Comte. I need you, Father. I don't know...you always told me not to let my emotions show, to conceal my temper, but it's not working! Why am I so broken? Why am I still upset? Please, Father, please send me a sign, so God help me..."

I pouted, watching the brokenhearted man quietly sob, letting out his pain in short gasps, before his tightly tensed hands moved to bury his face, his shoulders wreaking back and forth in a horrible way. As much as a jerk he was being, and how frightening his face had been, I felt bad for the Comte Mulheim.

Reappearing from my hiding spot, Erik once again didn't hear me approach out from behind. I took a deep breath, before placing my hand as comfortingly as possible on his shoulder.

Through his gasps, his head turned slightly to continue his glare, but this time I did not falter.

"Go away, you stupid, immature brat!" he said between sniffles, "I still don't know why you are here!"

I smiled despite my annoyance and underlying disbelief at his harsh words.

"For one, I'm really do want to remain friends, and secondly, I know how you feel, losing your father. I was here to pray under the guidance of my father and heard your violin. Could...could you play some more sometime?" I asked gently. Suddenly, his anger changed to tired submission.

"I will some other time, but first, I am taking you to breakfast, because you are bone thin!" he grumbled, taking my hand hesitantly.

I sighed in relief.

"Thank you, Erik," I murmured. He sent me a smirk, and I wasn't sure what emotion he was brewing.

"My pleasure, mademoiselle," Erik mused as together we left the dreary remains of the past.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I am glad to see my readers are enjoying this story so far. I promise you all that the following chapters to come with have plenty of fluff...and soon the course will change *winkwink***

**Please R&R! :)**

**-PhantomLilac**

.::.

**Erik**

After a delightful breakfast, Christine and I decided to and began a friendly routine of eating dinner with each other's company.

I frequently came to see Christine during her rehearsals for the upcoming show, Il Muto.

I reclined casually in my box, awaiting to hear my childhood friend sing, only to be astonished to find La Carlotta in her place!

With a wince, covering my ears at her terrible screeching, I stared furiously at the mangers seated beside me, the hairs along the back of my neck raising.

"I thought Christine Daae was a good fit as the Prima Donna, should I say myself," I spitefully growled. Firman shook his head sadly.

"Not much I can do, the previous owner gave strict orders that he wanted Carlotta as our leading lady," Firman retorted. My eyes narrowed immensely as the demons within me burned with hate.

How dare they not rid the Opera of the potbellied pig! Her horrible husband, Ubaldo Piangi, could go as well.

Patiently, I waited until the rehearsal was over to wait outside Christine's door for her and bid her farewell-for now, at least. I would more than likely run into her tomorrow or the next day.

I paused, thinking to myself, where is she? She was 10 minutes past the normal time she would be out of her costume and ready to come for dinner.

Hesitantly I balled my hand and knocked.

"Christine?" I called. No response. I furrowed my brow in suspicion, only to hear down the hall faint arguing.

By now, all the other ballet girls and staff would be long gone. I didn't want to leave the entrance to her dressing room, but this sounded serious.

I crept away, keeping to the shadows, only to see that ratty, nuisance stage manager, Josef Buquet, with an iron grip on Christine's wrists as they fought verbally.

I was so confused...I didn't know Christine and Josef even talked.

I knew Josef Buquet as a prominent drinker and strip club regular. I would pass him on the streets, and he invited me sometimes to partake only to be stunned by my gentlemanly refusal.

He was not only the stage manager, but he was the treasurer, and at that, it meant he kept the dorms and dressing rooms for ballet girls like Christine and would collect their taxes.

I narrowed my eyes, wondering what the drunken idiot wanted with her.

.::.

**Christine**

On my way out the door, I dreaded I would run into Josef Buquet again, and he would bother me. I shuddered at the thought, of terrible memories of his treatment of myself and other ballet girls in the past.

For two years, of all the dancers, I was unfortunately his favorite. He didn't understand I didn't want him to touch me, or bother me, but Buquet persisted,

He grabbed my wrists, whirling me around to face him. Instead of a seductive sneer, his face was filled with rage.

"I heard you've been going out with a Comte, huh?" Josef snapped.

When I didn't answer, he violently shook me, and I let out an anguished shriek.

"Well tell him, you're my women and he's not gonna have you, is that clear!?"

"No!" I screamed, kicking and fighting as he placed his rancid lips on mine, his hand moving down and grabbing my skirt.

"Let me go, Josef, it's over! Please..." I whined.

First, Buquet slapped me hard across the cheek. When I shoved him away, he lunged.

He slammed me onto the cold floor, his hands pinning my neck down.

"You listen to me, Christine Daae," he whispered, an air of hatred befalling me.

"It's not over," he murmured, "and if you can dance with a Comte in a comfy bed, I can punish you with pleasure on a stone floor."

As he lowered his face down to kiss me again, I scrunched my face away, fear intoxicating my every breath, when suddenly his hands were ripped away from my throat, and I heard Buquet cry out as someone lashed out at him.

I blinked, dazed. Everything was surreal. Josef Buquet was howling in pain, and I heard angry howls from someone else. As I focused, I realized...

It was Erik!

I leaped up, seeing the bruises all over Buquet's arm and his cheek now as Erik threw hard punches. I ran to my friend's side, pulling him away.

"Erik, don't kill him," I countered quickly, fearing for both of their lives. Buquet coughed up blood, staggering against the wall.

"He could've hurt you, you stupid girl! You stand here, let him threaten you and then get shocked when I serve the drunkard some justice!?" Erik furiously countered, his amber eyes boring into mine with a burning flare.

I winced away from his gaze, before taking his hand.

"Can we please go eat now? Please...I don't want anymore violence." I pleaded. Erik sighed, shaking his head sadly, and began to walk away, one hand still clenched in a fist.

.::.

**Erik**

Instead of going out to dinner, I took Christine to my home.

"Erik, why are we coming here?" she asked timidly.

Instead of answering her question, I opened the door and had her sit down on a recliner in the living room, before calling out to Madame Giry.

"Madame! I need you to come check on something," I said.

Front and center, she rushed in the room, and I led her to Christine, who closed her eyes in relaxation from the warm fireplace nearby.

"Buquet tried to take her, I stepped in and brought her here, could you make sure she's not injured badly in any way? I am going back to her dormitory to retrieve her belongings, she will occupy the most comfortable guest room as possible," I strictly ordered.

Christine's eyes shot open, glaring me down.

"I can't move out of the dorms, Erik, are you suggesting I can no longer perform?" she weakly protested.

"For the meantime, I find it safe you avoid that abusive idiot! In other words, yes, Christine, you will not be performing at the Opera House" I coldly growled back.

I turned my back, about to leave, when I heard Madame Giry murmur something that bothered me to the core.

"Oh heavens, child, your arm is broken. Why didn't you say anything?" she gasped to Christine.

I turned back around, raising my eyebrows. Had Buquet broken her arm, and she was too afraid to say so?

"It's not broken. It feels fine," Christine mumbled, but now I could clearly see it as Madame Giry pulled up the girl's sleeve, revealing a huge purple bruise.

"I'll get a sling," Meg quickly said, lingering at the entrance. Christine at first shook her head, then hesitantly nodded.

"Okay...fine, I'll stay, but don't kill Buquet, Erik. Promise me you won't lay a finger on him?" she shrilled.

With another sigh, I agreed, then hurried off to collect her things. I didn't want to keep her here like a chicken in a coop, but I couldn't just let her go back to that creep, could I?


	8. Chapter 8

**Christine**

I waited patiently, using my only good arm to maneuver my fork as I picked without an appetite at the small soufflé Madame Giry had prepared.

I looked up, pausing hesitantly as I noticed Meg hungrily gobbling down her food. I blinked, pouting slightly as I looked back to the food on the plate, before taking another bite.

"You okay, Christine?" she chirped. When I shook my head, she frowned.

"I'm worried, that's all. About Erik." I admitted. Meg placed her fork down, as her hand moved comfortingly onto my shoulder.

"Erik can take care of himself, don't worry about him. He's only trying to help, I know he is stubborn and all-"

"What am I missing?" Erik grunted from behind us. With a jolt, my head cocked to face him as I swiveled. He had a mellow smirk upon his face.

"N-nothing, I just..." I stammered, when my eyes wandered to the hand he had stuffed into his pocket. A rancid smell hit my nose. Blood.

I reached for his wrist, ripping it away. His face popped in shock as I realized his knuckles were cracked and caked with blood. The corners of his mask were red, and his mouth looking purple in color.

Suddenly enraged, Erik yanked away, only to wince and cradle his wounded hand with his other.

"Erik, what did you do!?" I yelled. He had clearly come into contact with something hard, and I could see glass bits splintered in the knuckles.

"None of your business! Madame Giry, whiskey please!" Erik snarled. Madame Giry nodded, hurrying to the kitchen for antiseptic, and I followed, furious that he had gotten himself into trouble.

Erik sat himself up on the barstool, wincing in pain as the alcohol was dabbed upon his knuckles. I pressed myself out of sight, for I knew if he realized I was listening he would grow enraged.

Madame Giry cocked her eyebrows as he let out a sharp cry, shielding his hand away from her when she grabbed tweezers to remove the glass.

"It'll be okay, Erik, settle down...would you rather it get infected?" she murmured calmly. With a sigh, he shook his head.

"The drunk bastard attacked me. He tried to kill me when he spotted me fetching Christine's belongings. I would've wrung his neck in justice, but if I did so, the stubborn girl would hate me," he brutishly hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes squinting and twitching as Madame Giry nimbly plucked at the broken shards in his palm.

"Are you injured anywhere else?" Madame Giry asked kindly, and he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and clamping his teeth together with a grunt as the final yank took out the largest, deepest embedded prickling of glass.

As the hand was bandaged, I finally went off to bed, not bothering to finish my half-eaten dinner. Misery swept over me. I felt trapped here in this vast mansion. It was not at all welcoming to me.

I closed my eyes, only to be swept with viscous nightmares overcame me. All I felt were tears, tears, and more tears doting my face as I twisted and turned, everywhere I looked was Buquet's evil gaze and chortling laughter.

_"I will find you, Christine Daae! I will take you away from your sanctuary and kill that beast..."_

.::.

**Erik**

I grabbed Christine's flailing arm, having been awoken hours into my slumber by her terrified shrieks.

"Christine, Christine!" I growled tiredly, pinning her delicate wrist to the bed frame.

Immediately her eyes widened, as she gasped for breath, before realizing it was only me. I let go of her wrist gently as she wrecked into pitiful whimpers.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." she sobbed tearfully, pressing her earthly, unbroken arm to her chest in fright.

My knuckles brushed softly against her forehead. It was warm. Almost, too warm.

"You're running a fever, that's why you aren't sleeping soundly," I mumbled, my eyes cracking at the creases from sheer exhaustion.

As I began to stand up, away from where I had sat upon her bedside, she clutched desperately at the end of my nightshirt, pawing sadly at my hips. I turned back to face her, confused by her gesture.

"Please don't go...Erik, I'm scared," hoarsely this came as a whisper. I pouted slightly, before setting myself back into the recliner, where her hand moved shakily into my own. I sighed.

This would be a long night, I presumed.

For an hour, she shuddered, her eyes closed as I murmured out a gentle lullaby. By the time the hour had ended, Christine had fallen asleep. I found peace within the room, before closing my own eyes in a peaceful slumber.

This was the end of the first day, and little had I known, Christine staying in the manor would change my terrible, grievance of a life forever.

.::.

**Christine**

I treaded down the staircase. It was two weeks since I had been told, for my own protection, I was to stay in the Comte Mulheim's manor as a guest.

Morning had crossed the sky. If I were in the Opera House, I would've been dancing by now. I was alone in the house with Erik, whom I knew was not a social man of any sort and preferred, after the incident with Buquet, to keep to the house and nowhere else.

Today was seemingly different. I expected the early bird to be downstairs already, but he, in a whirl, rushed past me to the first floor.

"Slow down, you'll hurt yourself running down stairs! Father always said if you trip while running down a staircase, you'll get three years bad luck." I called after him.

"Sorry Christine, I do hate to inform you I have to run out to my cousins' estate for a few hours!" Erik replied breathily, rushing to the kitchen to grab something quick to eat.

In puzzlement, I raised my eyebrows, following after him in a quick succession. I leaned in the doorway while he flurried to the icebox.

"And what would be the trouble? Do you wish for me to stay and clean?"

Erik wiped his brow, pulling out an apple.

"It's nothing too drastic, I'm sure, but Raoul said there was a slight dilemma at their home and I was needed immediately. You should be alright, staying here of course, unless you would rather come along?" he mumbled between bites.

I giggled at his hasty nature. Mister Everything-Must-Be-Perfect was suddenly in a rushed, sloppy position. He scowled at me half-heartedly, catching in on exactly what I was laughing at.

"I could come along if you'd prefer," I chirped. He shrugged, before practically running out the door, and as usual, I followed. My childhood friend was such a klutz for a respectable Comte, I thought with a grin.

I only did hope, nothing was of the matter for Philippe and Raoul deChagney...


	9. Chapter 9

**Christine**

We entered the deChagney home, to hear the shuffling of feet quickly as the two awkward brothers, Monsieur's Philippe and Raoul deChagney hurried to greet us. Erik looked flustered as they gawkily overlooked us, with wide eyes.

"So what is such a problem you required my appearance?" Erik spoke up, clearing his throat. He looked down at his feet, seemingly ashamed of his cousins' prodding nature.

"The problem is you and Miss Daae, we just wanted to see you were alright. We ran into Meg last night rushing to get extra bandages and healing ointment from that Persian herb shop, and she said both of you were injured by a stagehand of the Opera House!" Raoul piped, snatching Erik's wrist to examine the heavily covered wound on his knuckles.

Erik ripped away, his face turning hot.

I took a step away, knowing something deeper was rooted in this argument, before Erik exploded.

"This is what this is about? My affairs are my affairs, my dear sister is a squawking parakeet and we all know that-so stay out of it!" he snapped brutishly, before Philippe clapped his hands together, stepping in the way before Erik could rip off Raoul's head.

"Why don't we play chess in the sunroom?" Philippe cheerily suggested. I shrugged pleasantly, hoping I could help deter the negativity.

"I'll watch," I mused, "I was never too good at chess."

"That's fine," Philippe replied with a smile, then grinned wider Erik's direction.

Erik scowled, his eyebrows lowering at Philippe, before the bottom of his lip pouted.

"I am not in the mood, Philippe, for your childish games of chess. I haven't played since my Father passed on, and you should be aware of my reservation with the matter." Erik snorted.

It was my turn to frown, when I touched his hand delicately, making him wince. I had to admit, I nearly winced when I entwined my hand gently into his. Erik's boney fingertips were ice cold to the touch. Did he ever sleep, and if he did, did he even have blankets on, for he was like an ice cube. I fretted on the inside.

"It will be fun. You don't do anything fun in your manor, no luxurious parties, no dinners, not even one mere glimpse of you ever being happy. Please, Erik?" I complained. With a roll of his arrogant amber eyes, he solemnly agreed.

As Philippe led us to the elegant sunroom, I couldn't help but smile as I took a seat beside Erik. Raoul flexed his fingers before he asked, "Miss Christine, while the Comtes begin their chess match, would you like to be shown around our manor?"

I got back up, hoping Erik wouldn't mind my abrupt departure, and once again followed Raoul as he cordially began to show me the main hall.

"Your home is spectacular, monsieur. It's like a sunnier version of Erik's," I noted observantly. He nodded.

"Thank you." he said, a bit of strange remorse in his throat as he began a very odd silence as we continued our way back towards the sun room, nearly finished with our tour, before he paused, turning to face me.

Raoul's eyes flickered with a brightness, as he beckoned me to watch quietly as Erik and Philippe played chess in the distance, not noticing us at all.

Erik slammed the queen down on Philippe's side of the board, making the Comte deChagney grown in discomfort.

"Ha! Checkmate!" Erik triumphantly sniggered. Philippe pulled the loose strand of dark brownish-blonde hair from his face.

"Drat," he muttered grumpily, "is there ever a time you don't win at chess?"

"Have you forgotten, the Mulheim family has always been the best?" Erik teased back.

Raoul pulled me back into the seclusion of the hallways.

"I think you make him very happy, Christine, since you are staying with him. Before you came back, visits with Erik were not all so pleasant." Raoul said, seriousness in his tone.

"Why? What was wrong?" I asked innocently.

"Well, three years ago, Comte Charles Mulheim died, and Erik became very cold, and as soon as his father died, he shut us out of his life for six months, not uttering a word to anybody. Even the night you performed, until you took the stage he was snappish and irritable."

My eyes widened. Was it true, what Raoul said? Did I truly make Erik happy, if so then how was I the cause of his happiness? I was just a simple chorus girl and ballerina, nothing special at all.

"You must be mistaken," I stammered.

Raoul shook his head with confirmation.

"No, Christine, you are mistaken. I think...I think Erik has feelings for you," he uttered slowly and cautiously, as if hoping no one would hear our conversation. His blue eyes flickered about to the cheerful chirping of the socializing Comtes in the room not too far away.

"Feelings? No, no, Raoul, he can't-"

"He does though, are you blind? He may be a bit irrational, I'll admit Erik is far from flawless, but please, just help him. He's my cousin, and before he was crushed with grief, he was the most pleasant and inspirational person I knew. Bring that side of him out, show him love, and he will return it."

My mind was dizzy with Raoul's words. Love? Erik was in love with me? I felt my cheeks pale. I had only been reacquainted with Erik for a week. I cared about him as a friend, but I didn't think we loved each other. I turned, immediately drowning out Raoul, and returning to Erik's side and taking a seat.

The moment Erik saw my distraught face, he darkened from his happiness. Immediately anger hit his gaze as he glared at Raoul.

"What did you say to her?" he snarled fiercely. Philippe jerked and cut in.

"Erik, can we not fight today, please?" Philippe said.

"You want to know what I said to her? I asked her if she was alright, and pointed out her sling, but I didn't know that would hurt her feelings. I am sorry, Mademoiselle Daae." Raoul lied.

Unable to cope with his previous words, and to save Erik from personal grief, I went along with Raoul's lie, and accepted his apology.

We returned home, to which I immediately said I was tired and went to bed. It was already the evening, and I had lost my appetite. My heart ached from inside out, and conflicting feelings churned in my chest, making me want to cry. Why did this happen to me, why did this have to happen to Erik? Why couldn't I return these feelings Raoul had spoken of from Erik?

I fluttered my eyes shut, my free arm touching my black lace sling around my bruised, aching arm. It would be a long night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Erik**

I awaited Christine to arise in the morning. As I sipped at my morning tea gently, I heard footsteps going down the staircase.

It had already been two weeks that had passed and nobody would confess whatever Raoul had really said to Christine. I wasn't dumb, to the dismay of my cousins, I knew that what had slipped his lips had hurt her and she wouldn't talk to me as a result.

Had it been a terrible fib? Had it been some idiotic babbling of Raoul's? Had he just outright insulted her and she didn't trust me not to get overreactive?

Whatever it was, whatEVER it was, I would figure it out indeed...

"Erik," Christine breathed as she entered the doorway. I looked up, placing my newspaper down and smiling.

"Good morning. Can I get you something to eat?" I asked pleasantly. When I heard her swallow hard and nervously look down at her feet, I knew something was up. Something terrible had happened, hadn't it? Anxiety gripped me.

"Christine?" I quickly added, wondering what was taking her so long to respond.

"I need to talk to you. It's sort of important. Can we...can we go to my bedroom for a moment?" she urgently said.

I nodded, rising to my feet and following up the stairs. Awkwardly we were filled with nothing but silence before she shut the door behind us.

The candlelights in the dimly light room were glowing ablaze on the little desk provided, and I could see papers, documents decked across them.

For a while, we stared at each other, absolutely no words coming between us. A frown appeared on her face, before she drew back the locks of her curly hair that had fallen over her eye.

"Is this about what Raoul said?"

She paused at my statement, before nodding. Christine quickly retracted and shook her head.

"Ah-yes, and no, no, not exactly."

She pursed her lips, letting out a sigh.

"Raoul told me...Raoul told me you were in love with me," she admitted cautiously.

Fear, hatred, and grief overpowered me in the blink of an eye. So that as what Raoul said...I thought when I wrote my confessions in a letter to my deChagney cousins, they wouldn't say anything. My mischievous younger cousin...I would never trust him with another secret again!

"Christine, I-" I desperately began, feeling the tears begin to form in my eyes, but she cut me off abruptly, her own grief and turmoil kicking in.

"Erik, don't be sorry. For a while I've been hiding in the shadows too...I think, I think I could...be in love with you too. But you have to understand, that's not the trouble. I have a confession of my own to make."

I was moved by the strength and compassion in her tone. Christine loved me? Or at least she could be. My bottom lip quivered and quaked with romantic feelings spreading throughout my mind.

"Whatever it is, I won't be the one to judge you." I softly replied in a voice like pure silk.

She pulled her eye contact away, hurrying to her desk where she snatched up two documents. Once more she hesitated, facing me again, before she shoved the papers into my hands.

One was a document of somebody's birth. I was expecting the name Christine Daae on the top, but instead, it was someone else.

_Aria Daae_

It dated back roughly five years ago. My eyes widened as I came to a hard realization, but I numbly turned it over to read the other document.

_Riverstone Orphanage will be arriving to collect your two year old daughter, Aria Daae, as the city of Paris has found you an unfit mother for the child. Unless she is adopted out, you may be granted the ability to buy her back for 5000 francs, otherwise there will be no exceptions._

Silently, I placed the documents back into Christine's shaking, nervous fingertips. Once again, we were drenched in silence.

This child was her mask, her secret she had been trying to hide...

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Christine shakily whispered.

With a sad shake of my head, I replied, "I honestly don't know what you expect me to say. Are you a married woman, Christine?"

"No!" she sobbed back. She dropped the documents onto the desk, weeping pitifully into her hands.

I pressed my palms onto opposite sides of her shoulders, rubbing them comfortingly. She wasn't pure, and she had a daughter. Some innocent child this cruel world took away from her. A child that wasn't mine.

"Do you know who the father is?" I asked simply, trying not to arouse anger.

"He's dead. We were never married but we were engaged. He died in a carriage accident...left nothing for me and Aria..." Christine cried.

I frowned. That didn't help with anything. Nothing she had said moments ago, nothing about her possibly being in love with me, seemed real anymore. Was this all just a facade? Did she love this dead fiancee more than I?

"So how old is the child now? Have you tried to negotiate to have her returned?"

"Aria's five," Christine replied feverishly, "and she's alone and scared in that rotten place of an orphanage...I have tried so hard, but they won't give her back..."

When the girl started sniffling again, I feared she would cry so loud she'd wake all of Paris. I took a seat beside her, propping her up in my lap and letting her tears soak my shirt.

How odd it felt, for Christine's curls to be underneath my chin. We had only been remotely contacted for at least a month now, and here she was, curled onto my lap, crying like there was no tomorrow.

I cradled the broken doll of a girl tightly.

"Shh...Christine, I'm not angry, please don't cry. We'll get your child, just close your eyes and calm down..." I murmured, rubbing her back soothingly.

Christine's whimpers grew softer and softer, until at last there was nothing but silence. She had fallen asleep.

My own eyelids began to droop from exhaustion of all this mess. I fought my urge to sleep as well, as this innocent, perfect woman lain on top of my lap and resting her head against my chest.

Our synchronized breathing turned into a soft, sweet lullaby. The time stopped flowing as at last I fell victim to sleep.

.::.

**A/N: Sorry for the late chapter, but PLOT TWIST! Please read and review, if you'd like :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Christine**

I reawakened hours later, in the evening, and suddenly realized I was now lain upon my bed, and Erik nowhere to be seen. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, before a gleaming white paper hit my gaze.

Scooping it up, I realized a little velvet box was attached. Curiously, I opened it it...

A glittering, silvery diamond ring was inside. I gasped, knowing exactly what this was. Erik was proposing.

I held it to my face to observe it. Oh, how beautiful it was! How it glistened in the small shards of light coming from the draped violet curtains, several radiant crystals forming a perfect round circle. My eyes watered with joyous tears, but why didn't Erik give it to me himself?

Finally, I began to read the note.

_My dearest Christine,_

_I don't know when you are due to awake, but I decided to run another errand in town. I'm not certain when I am to return, but I could not await any longer to propose. The ring had belonged to my mother when she and my father were alive and wed._

_If you return the feelings I have for you, I only ask you wear it in faith to me. If so, I have a pleasant surprise with me when I do return to the manner._

_I also ask you do not leave the manor. Madame Giry will fix you dinner should I not be back beforehand. Do not question my motives, if you'd please._

_With love,_

_Erik_

I grinned sweetly, placing the dazzling ring on my finger, before rushing to the desk, remembering my placid documents lain across it, only to find every last one of them gone.

My eyes widened. Where were they? I checked in the desk drawer, only to still find nothing there. There was only one answer.

"Do not question my motives, if you'd please." had been the words on the note.

"Erik, what have you done?" I murmured angrily. He was going to get himself hurt, for sure, I bitterly thought. But if I left to find him, would he take back his proposal?

I decided gloomily to stay put as I headed downstairs to a post in the kitchen.

"There you are! You look gorgeous, Christine!" Meg shrilled, startling me as I reached the bottom step. I stumbled, nearly falling over myself, when she grabbed my wrist to examine the ring.

"We're gonna be sister-in-laws, isn't this great!?" she screamed joyously.

"Meg, settle down, I think you're scaring her," Raoul grumbled from nearby.

My attention snapped from my best friend to the Vicomte deChagney. What was he doing here, and why?

"That's okay. Wh-where's Erik?" I stammered, recovering from my near-fall moments before.

Meg blinked, then sucked in air before answering.

"We don't actually know, but he told us to be your company since he would be home late," she squealed, and then wrapped herself around me in a happy hug.

Late? Even later than now? I swallowed away my anxiety to enjoy this happy occasion, at least for now.

.::.

**Erik**

"I wish to speak to the Chief of Police," I firmly said. As the waves of young officers parted out of the way for myself and my cousin, Philippe, and I, I made my way to the small room labeled for the headmaster of the Paris crime fighting organization.

I knocked once, before entering and taking a seat.

The man turned to face me, puffy rings of smoke leaving his pipe.

"Comte Mulheim and Comte deChagney? A likely pair, how may I assist you?"

"You don't have to call me that, Monsieur Khan. It's not like I'm any higher a rank than you. I would have your job, certainly had I not been born a noble," I smugly responded.

Nadir Khan was a Persian immigrant. I knew him well enough, I had helped him become the Chief of Police when no one else wanted to fight crime.

He was a little shorter than I, with olive skin and a black, thin mustache at the base of his lip beginning to turn white (not of age, but that of former stress of his homeland). Atop the bridge of his nose usually sat a little black pair of spectacles, and behind them piercing jade eyes.

"Whatever. What do want, Erik?" he responded, a hint of tease when he said my name.

I placed the documents on his desk, the ones I had wittingly taken from Christine's desk as she slept, before I had brought them along with me to consult and gain the assistance of Philippe.

Philippe sort of made a slight dip of his face, watching Nadir intently. He didn't know the Persian man as I did, and I did not expect Philippe to trust him, but I certainly did.

"You see, my fiancee, it's her daughter, and five years ago an Orphanage came and took the child by force from her. I think Riverstone Orphanage forged the documents and took advantage of my fiancee's fear to get access to the child. I would like Aria Daae returned at once." I quickly explained.

Nadir nodded, a slight "mmhmm" escaping his lips as he looked them over.

"These don't look legal as far as I know. When do you wish for action to be taken place, Sirs?" Nadir mused.

"Immediately," Philippe finally spoke, his fiery blue eyes rearing with unusual excitement, "It should be done immediately. I have seen this Riverstone Orphanage before and it is a bloody mess of a place."

Nadir nodded once more, stacking the papers neatly before passing them back to me. I stowed them away in my parcel, clutching it tight in my arms.

"Now, shall we?" Nadir mused, a smirk crossing the corner of his lips. I bowed at an acute angle in respect.

Christine would be overjoyed...

.::.

As the police interrogated one of the owners, immediately a staff member was sent to me.

"Monsieur, we've been told to turn Aria over to you? Is that correct?" she asked in a bit of a blunt, sharp-tongued attitude.

"Yes, and any and all paperwork surrounding the child. Where is the girl?" I snapped irritably. She shrunk in her skin, leading me down a small hallway to a lone child's bedroom.

I opened the door. Philippe would deal with this dump of a care center whilst I located Christine's daughter.

Everything was so quiet. A small window with moonlight shining through, without a single drape, was on the far side. Otherwise, two bright, cerulean eyes glowed slightly just past me from on the bed, and I realized this was Aria.

Shyly, the child covered her head in the thin blanket, cowering.

"Miss Aria, please come out, I'm here to help you," I calmly said. How else was I supposed to speak with a child? I did not know a thing about parenting or talking with young ones.

"Are you a vampire?" she whispered hoarsely.

I stifled laughter. What were the rats of this orphanage teaching her?

"No. I'm supposed to be taking you to your mother, but if you don't want-"

"Oh no, please!" she cried, leaping out of the bed and hugging my leg. I grimaced at this child's little hands on my knee, her eyes beginning to weep all over and stain my pant leg.

Other than her face, I could get a better look at her. Aria had ringlets of thick, bushy curls like her mother, but they came down in dense, almost surreal blonde, even paler than that of Meg's, so it was almost white in shade.

I awkwardly pried one of her hands away and into my grasp.

"Don't cry, little one," I murmured, "we have to walk home, but it's only two miles away."

She looked startled at the idea of walking somewhere, and she cringed with every step, before I realized her leg was covered in small, but several, ugly black bruises. No doubt, one of the staff members.

With a sigh as we finally left, she asked to get up on my shoulders.

Knowing I could not win, I hoisted Aria onto my shoulders as I walked, her little hands hugging my neck. It was uncomfortable, but I tried my hardest as I knew this was for my Christine.

I felt a jerk when we were nearly to the manor, as the child twisted to look adoringly at a beautiful porcelain doll in the window.

"Isn't it pretty?" Aria squeaked.

"Yes," I tiredly grumbled, "I presume it is. I do recall your mother having one when we were children."

I let Aria down gently so she could admire it, and I couldn't help but feel a nostalgic flutter in my chest.

Out of my pocket, I pulled out my valuable francs, and made a decision I would not forget.

.::.

**Christine**

I heard the front door open somewhere, and Philippe arrived to retrieve Raoul.

Raoul followed him, but I caught them as they tried to leave.

"Monsieur, where's Erik?" I asked politely, though my patience was running low. I knew that everyone knew exactly where he was, but they wouldn't tell me. In my heart though, I could only guess what he'd been up to.

"Not sure, he asked to walk home. He should be back soon, however. Goodnight, Mademoiselle Daae." Philippe deChagney responded.

Distraught, I lay despondent on the couch, listening to the grandfather clock chime back and forth.

My eyelids drooped out of sheer exhaustion, my stomach letting a low rumble of pleasure from the hearty meal I had eaten an hour before.

I was alone. Meg and Madame Giry were probably asleep by now.

Tick, tock, tick tock.

I could feel the presence of something not quite here yet.

Tick, tock, tick tock.

Something was coming to the front door as it rattled with the key.

Tick, tock, tick tock...

It swung open with a creaky groan. I shot up, startled by the shuddering moan. It only too seconds for me to spot Erik, finally home, and past him bolted a little girl holding a small, porcelain china doll.

Aria.

She squealed in delight, running and pouncing onto my stomach.

Tears flooded to my eyes. Erik had done this...for me? I couldn't help it as my child and I began to cry in unison.

"Momma!" Aria sobbed, burying her face in my chest. I only began to weep uncontrollably.

"I won't ever let them take you again, Aria, never..." I shrieked, the hot excretions from my eyelids pooling down my cheeks.

I looked up to where Erik was awkwardly standing, a hint of fondness and regret in his distant gaze, before I smiled to him, making sure the ringed finger was in view.

"Thank you," I cried to him, "thank you so much..."


	12. Chapter 12

**Erik**

A month had passed faster than we had planned it. Christine was off with Meg and Madame Giry to pick a wedding dress, while I was at home with Aria.

In the summer evening in the soft heat, everything was so calm, so collective, so warm, as little Aria bumbled along in the grass, looking for faeries. I chuckled a bit to myself as the little girl seemed to squeal at everything she came across.

"Not too far, Aria!" I called after her when she momentarily came out of my vision line, before her head popped out from behind a raised flower bed.

"Okay, Papa!"

It had been decided between Christine and I that it would be for the better that Aria be considered my daughter. I preferred not to lie to children, but for Aria's sake, we presumed it would be the best.

The little girl let out a gasp not too far away, and she came running out with a furry bundle in her arms.

Puzzled, I knelt down for her to show me a kitten with a broken hind paw. It mewled when Aria cradled it, before the glint in her little eyes told me she wanted to keep it.

I tried not to groan. Christine would kill me for letting Aria have a cat wander around the house.

"Please, Papa, please?" she pleaded against my protest. Her blonde curls nuzzled into my shoulder, and my soft spot for the child pushed its way through.

"Alright," I grunted, "but you're going to have to get her cleaned up, now. Let me get her some bandages."

Aria shrieked in joyous delight, waddling beside me with the little thing in her arms.

"I'm going to name her Ayesha!" the girl chirped, a look of pure happiness sparkling in her gaze. I couldn't help but smile.

It didn't take long to patch up the wound and tighten a makeshift cast. I had no experience with animals, but it didn't matter, for Aria was entertained, and I was sure something could be figured out.

I heard the front door open, and lots of chatter. The ladies were home.

Aria rushed past me, Ayesha in her arms, before she called, "Momma!"

I went to the main hall, standing in amused watch as Madame Giry's eyes popped at the feline.

"A cat, Erik?" Madame argued. I grinned madly. Meg giggled at her mother's sternness.

"Why, yes, actually." I responded pompously, causing Meg to snort with laughter. Madame Giry sent her a stern look.

"Be mindful I won't be cleaning that mess up, I already clean enough," this time Madame had a humorous tease as she strutted up the stairs, the concealed dress in hand.

Christine finally waltzed over to my side, landing a kiss on my cheek.

"I think it is a gorgeous cat," she murmured affectionately.

We both stifled amused laughter of our own as Meg bent down, my wonderful sister, and began to chitchat with Aria about the cat, both looking as excited and goofier than before.

Christine and I began to go ourselves up the stairs, stealing our privacy as Aria and her adoptive aunt went to the kitchen to bathe and groom Ayesha.

"Can you believe tomorrow we are to be married?" Christine excitingly cooed, her fingers into mine. I smiled vaguely.

"I believe so," I responded. I pulled away, walking a few ways down the hall to the large portrait of my parents, the large framed painting with the happiness in their eyes.

She paused, then realized why I had drawn my attention from her, before she held my knuckles and gently kissed them.

"Erik, it's going to be alright. Your mum and father would be proud, as I know mine would be," Christine sympathetically cooed into my ear, before she lay her head against my shoulder, examining the painting herself.

"Your mum was very beautiful."

"Yes," I replied, "she had a very pretty exterior, but her heart was cold and shriveled."

Christine pondered onwards.

"How so?"

"She hated me." I quietly answered, my eyes flitting to the floor. Memories of her slapping me or screaming in my face as a young boy came to my mind, and the furious arguments between her and my father paralyzed me to the spot.

_"Erik? Are you alright?"_

Christine cut my thoughts away, feeling my forehead with the back of her hand, before she winced and drew back, seeing my shocked, grief-filled reaction.

"No, I'm not alright...I think I need some air," I stammered. She frowned, tugging on my arm gently, before I pulled away once more, stumbling towards the staircase to return to the hallway.

"Erik..." she persisted, but I shoved my way past her, dazed and suddenly confused, but the feeling of my mother's eyes watching me, judging me, scolding me...it was haunting my mind.

I had to get away...I had to distract myself from the pain.

.::.

**Christine**

Erik had so abruptly changed from happy about our wedding to timid and grieving.

Part of me was sympathetic, the other part was disappointed. He never touched me, he never kissed me. I was certain part of it was his overly sophisticated manners, but I wanted it from him.

"Erik..." I persisted wearily, following him back down the stairs. What was going on with him? We had hours of time to ourselves, whilst Meg would entertain Aria in the meantime.

When I heard the front door shut gently, I knew he was out on the porch. I crept out after Erik, to which he was somewhat bent over the railing, gasping for air.

"Erik!?" I worriedly yelped, resting my hand on his shoulder. He did nit turn to face me, but the way his shoulders began to heave, he was evidently crying.

"You are making a mistake, Christine," he wept, "you are binding yourself to a demon."

I shook my head. Why would he think this marriage, this union of our love, was a mistake?

"Don't call yourself that." I scorned, my hand moving to the cool, bare half of his face, as I wiped away a stray tear gently.

Suddenly, he snapped, grabbing my wrist viscously and whirling around. I gasped in alarm, stumbling for a moment before he let go, his eyelids turning red in the crisp moonlight.

He ripped his mask away from his face, towering above me. I cowered, not in fear of the deformity, but of his frightening anger.

"I am a demon, Christine! You cower in fear at my presence because you know it! You don't have to lie to me..." he snarled.

I began to weep myself as I stood there, dazed, confused, and scared.

"Erik, stop it, you are acting irrational!" I cried sharply. I did not pull my gaze from his face as he suddenly crumpled on his knees, his hands moving to the hem of my dress as he let out shaky tears.

I was brought back to the moment I tore away his mask, only two months ago, and the day after in the cemetery. He was groveling into the dress now, and I had never seen Erik cry so horribly, and emotionlessly, I worried upon what I was to do.

I pulled away slowly, shifting onto my knees as I wrapped my arms around his unstable frame, in an intense hug.

I felt awful. Poor, poor Erik, so confused...he did not know how to approach love, not yet, for his mother had never taught him.

Soothingly, I rubbed my hand in circles on his back, moving him down into trembling whimpers. My eyes fluttered shut in calmness.

"I love you, mon ange, please do not fret...everything is going to be okay..." I calmly whispered.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...it's all my fault..." he whimpered in anguish.

"I should make sure you get some rest early tonight. Off to bed for you."

He did not object to my suggestion as I turned, picking up his mask. I dusted off the pale, white thing, before I helped place it back upon his head. Erik slowly followed went up the stairs, where I rushed to get myself a small supper.

Tomorrow was a big day, and _nothing_ would come between our happy marriage.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I would like to take a short moment to welcome back one of my favorite reviewers, The Newbie Phan, who I haven't seen in a while. Hello! So glad you're back! Your reviews always bring a smile to my face. Hope you stick around, pal! :)**

**I also give my crazy big appreciation to PhantomFan01 and Horseyyay. You two have been reviewing for me for a long time as well. When I started this fanfic (and Passing Bells), you guys have been there encouraging me onwards and without you both, I probably wouldn't be this far. For a while, I lost hope in fanfiction, but both of you have really helped me keep going. So thank you. ^.^**

**Without further ado, ENJOY THE FLUFF! Hehe**

_**-PhantomLilac**_

.::.

**Erik**

I had been asleep by the time I heard Christine's frantic footsteps, her rustling hair, her shuddery breaths, as she entered my door and ran towards my bed.

My eyes fluttered awake in confusion and exhaustion, before she shook my shoulder. Her face was caked with sniffly tears, and I rubbed my eyes out of the remainder of sleep.

"Christine?" I croaked, in sheer flabbergast at her notions.

"I'm sorry, Erik, I had a horrible nightmare and couldn't sleep..." she sobbed. Unwillingly, I scooted over in bed.

She immediately slipped in the covers beside me, shivering in her thin clothing as I placed the bedsheets over her frame. Her eyes were sleepless, mad, and overwhelmed.

"Christine...are you alright?" I half groaned, half grunted as she continued to tremble.

"Why do you love me," she quietly asked, "when I have only bestowed upon you suffering, guilt, and anger? I have done nothing for you, but you have offered me everything...why, Erik?"

I turned to face her slightly, shifting underneath the covers to wrap my arms around her waist. Christine began to cry into my nightshirt, her tears soaking to my chest. What to do, what to say?

"I love you, always have, always will, no matter what comes between us. Oh, Christine..." I responded. Her wails moved down to a shuddering whimper, as she curled herself against me, hoping for warmth somehow in my comforting grip.

If only she would understand...if only she could see, that I wasn't upset with her as she thought I was, for when she cried, my heart broke in two. She was weeping for she felt unworthy from her impurity, and although it bothered me to an extent, I would not wedge that gap between us...

"You shouldn't love me, Erik, because I was unfaithful at the marriage...I lied, I didn't tell you about Aria because I was afraid you'd hate me..." she cried pitifully. I gently took her hands into mine, smiling faintly.

"I would never hate you for such a thing...please do not cry. Do you really think I would ask for your hand if I thought bitterly of you?" I murmured. She shook her head, snuffing away her tears and leaning forward.

Ever so softly, her lips touched mine, and at first I drew away. I had been kissed on the cheek, or forehead, but never the lips.

"Christine, I've never-"

"Never been kissed, a handsome Comte like you?"

I scowled, biting my inner cheek to keep my own tears from pooling. I would've thought...my face...how could she look upon it now and say I was handsome?

"Can we try this again?" Christine cooed. Before I could object, she bent forward and placed her lips upon mine. I started to pull away, shocked still by her romantic touch, but she grabbed the collar of my shirt, keeping me glued to her as she passionately kissed me.

The sensation of pleasure and romance ebbed through me when she finally let go, blinking a few times before our eyes met.

At last the tears broke through, as I tried to sit up to leave. No...no...I could not handle this, I did not deserve an innocent angel like Christine, whose very presence made my heart skip a beat.

But no, the woman was faster as she pinned me swiftly back onto the bed, crawling on top of me to hold me down.

She cockily grinned, and her previous vulnerability transformed into that of a dominant, hungry panther as her lips touched my deformed cheek, her tongue gently swirling across it. I gasped in alarm.

.::.

**Christine**

I wasn't about to let Erik get away from me when he had tried to sit up...I was bothered immensely by his resistance to touching me. I wanted him to kiss me, to hold me, but he was restraining from it out of childish fear.

I clambered on top of him, preventing him from fleeing again, before I kissed a deformed, tight patch of skin on his cheek, letting my tongue gently wash off the salty tears that had stained it.

He gasped in alarm, stiffening like a wounded animal. Erik clenched his eyes shut.

"Please, Christine, stop..." he whimpered.

"I don't want to stop, though, can't you see? Why are you so afraid?" I sharply objected, drawing myself inches from his face. His bottom lip trembled as he began to silently weep, more of the salty liquid draining from his eyes.

"I can't! I just can't, please...please..." he begged hoarsely. My heart wrenched with hurt and anger. Why was he behaving this way? I was giving myself to him, and Erik was pushing me away like a nobody.

Like a cat, I dropped and curled against him, knowing it was no longer useful to argue with him. I placed my head upon his loose arm, and feebly, Erik wrapped his other one around my waist. It was the most intimate we had been all night, and tragically upsetting for myself.

"I'm sorry..." Erik whispered, shaking in his voice. His breaths were uneven and short with his useless cries.

_"Erik_...I love you." I admitted quietly, despite the events before. I felt his hands move to my bare shoulder, and then he kissed it gently, sending a spiral of emotion throughout me. When I shifted to face him one final time, this time, we kissed mutually.

This was not like any kiss I had ever received. It was full of...love. It was full of love, respect, grief, and fear, but most of all was love.

It felt like time had stood still, the whole room was silent, everything so calm and serene, before it ended, and we at last settled into bed, as he guided me to rest my head underneath his chin with a sigh. Erik's fingertips brushed through my curls, and that was the last thing I felt before I fell asleep, at last at peace with my soon-to-be husband...


	14. Chapter 14

**Christine's Flashback**

I didn't know where Papa was taking me. All he had told me was, he was receiving a new job, and we were going to live somewhere nice.

I hesitated in fear as he led me along the streets of Paris, where I shied away from every awkward stare that befell me.

It had been five years ago that my mother had died. Her name had been Annette and she had been the most beautiful person I knew. But sadly, as I had been very young, I did not have many memories of her, and when the fever came, she was gone, just like that.

A manor, it was, that we were on the steps after forever of walking. The door opened, and a tall man with dark hair, but bright, cheery eyes invited me in. He and my father spoke to each other in a quiet voice that I did not understand.

"Christine, this is the Comte Mulheim, he will be our landlord." Papa explained.

The Comte held out a hand to me. I tensed, shaking it without meeting his gaze.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Daae." the Comte happily chirped. Everything grew still for a moment, before I heard a loud creak from the shadowy staircase. The Comte turned, staring up at the structure, before calling.

"Erik, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Shyly, a boy who could only be a year or so older than I, hesitantly crept down the staircase. His catlike golden eyes were intimidating, but as he looked away, I realized he must be equally as nervous as I was.

The boy, who I could presume was "Erik" bowed his head and dipped courteously, but uttered not a word. I noted the glistening, porcelain mask on one half of his face...and I could only wonder why, and what was underneath.

"I'm sorry, he's a tad shy. This is my son, the Vicomte Erik Mulheim."

Finally our eyes met, and I could see some frightened emotion flicker through him before he shrunk like a mouse. It was mesmerizing to look at, this odd boy with his odd mask and odd eyes...

.::.

"Checkmate," Erik grunted from our place in the backyard.

He picked up his silver king, and knocked my pawn off of the board. I pouted in response.

"You always win!" I cried. To this, a mischievous grin appeared.

"You always lose," he corrected.

Out of irritation, I rolled onto my back in the summery grass, letting out a moan. He chuckled, realigning the board.

"Shall we try again?" Erik continued, resetting every piece.

As he spoke, suddenly, my papa was feet away, looking bewildered.

"Christine, what are you doing in the grass? You will soil your clothes...guests arrive in 10 minutes for the ball! Please get in something nice." he stammered, face growing hot. I frowned again, before Erik chimed in.

"In 10 minutes? Alright." Erik cordially responded, beginning to pack the chessboard and playing pieces up.

He put away the game inside, while I went to my bedroom to change into a finer dress. As soon as I was in a vibrant lilac sundress, I practically, in my excitement, waltzed out the door and ran to Erik's room.

I knocked once on his door, and when no one replied, I opened it, to find him at his desk, staring intently at something, a framed picture, on it.

I moved to his side, to find a beautiful photograph of a woman with beautiful blonde curls decking all over her shoulders, a pearl necklace, and a wonderful smile. She was absolutely gorgeous!

"Who's this?" I whispered in awe and admiration. He sighed.

"My mother, Madeleine Clemonte." he murmured softly. I could sense the grief in his voice, but in my childhood stubbornness, I pressed on.

"My mum died when I was young, so I really didn't know her. What is your mum like?" I asked with a smile.

Erik hesitated, drumming his thumbs against the wooden surface.

"She beat me a lot when I was little, all I remember of her was her hatred of me. Everyone hates me."

"I don't hate you, my papa and your papa don't hate you. Your mother must've been a vile witch to hate a nice person like you."

For a moment, he must've flitted with hope, for he rose up, looking at the watch on his arm.

"Do you know how to dance, Christine?" he asked politely.

"No." I replied, but he had already taken my hand and was leading me down the stairs.

"Then I shall have to teach you, shan't I?" Erik chuckled.

I had been with the Mulheim family for almost three years now, with my father as their personal composer and performer. I was 11 years old, Erik 13, when he took my hands and showed me how to dance on the ballroom.

We ignored every eavesdropping stare, only grinning cheekily to each other as we swirled, just like adults, at the ball. I felt like I was in a fairytale...I was Cinderella, and Erik was a Prince Charming of sorts. No crush or lovey dovey affections, rather two best friends having fun.

I had wished it would stay that way.

It did not.

.::.

"Papa, where are we going?" I cried as he tugged me onto the back of the horse.

His face was coated in tears, and I noticed the bruises across his cheek.

"Papa-"

"Christine, we have to leave...I'm sorry. We can never come back. You will not speak of anything of the past to anyone, do you understand?" he barked.

"Yes Papa, but...what happened? Where are we going?"

He shook his head mournfully.

"I don't know...but we have to get away, somewhere...Christine, do you understand, if you tell anyone that I was here at the manor, we will be killed for what I've done!" he whispered.

My father had been attacked after the ball. A jealous butler had wanted my father's position, and tried to kill him, but Papa struck back, and accidentally killed the man. And he took me as far as he could go.

When I turned sixteen, he died of scarlet fever. Alone, and lost, I had roamed for miles, until I had come across a little village only a few ways out of Paris, and I found my first love.

.::.

Caius and I had been engaged, due to be wed only in a week's time. We had been so happy...oh god, why couldn't it had lasted?

Caius had been a well-known stonemason in the area. He was smart, wealthy, and one of the most accomplished and caring men I had ever known.

It had been the week before the wedding. We were crossing the road to pick out the wedding rings, when suddenly, halfway across, a rampaging carriage came in view, going so, so very fast...

Everything had happened in a blur. I was shoved aside onto the sidewalk only a yard or so away. The impact scratched my hands and wrists, and I felt little scarlet drops staining my hands, but it was far from severe, no, for when I turned, the carriage had halted, and someone was hopping off in horror.

Caius was lying, crushed, on the road. I let out a bloody scream at the sight...no, no, no! How could this be!?

"Caius, please...no..." I sobbed, rushing to his side. There wasn't even a pulse in his lifeless neck. He was gone, and had left absolutely nothing for me...

I pressed a hand to my stomach in agony. Nothing to support me. Nothing to support our unborn child...

Once more, I was alone...

When I got to my little flat, I curled up on my bed and sobbed. There was nothing left to live for...I had nobody but the baby growing inside of me, a baby that would no doubt be starving every day and night because I would have no money to buy food...or shelter, or clothes...

Memories of everything came back to me...everything about Mother, Erik, and Caius...everything seemed broken. I was trapped in a never-ending loop of pain...


	15. Chapter 15

**Erik**

I shifted when the first rays of sunlight fell upon me. With a groan of exhaustion, I began to rise out of bed, only for Christine to jolt awake and frantically grab my wrist.

"Where are you going?" she weakly cried. I didn't understand why she was crying...but suddenly, there were tears.

"I have to get ready for our wedding? Remember?" I cautiously reminded her. Christine still didn't let go.

"Please take a carriage, wherever you are going...promise you aren't going to walk there..." she pitifully whimpered.

I raised my eyebrows in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I walk there?"

"God damn it, Erik, promise you'll take a carriage! Promise..."

Unable to bear her horrendous crying, I agreed, but not after attempting to find out what it was about walking that was bothering her.

I waited until her sniffling had died down before I cupped her chin gently, pressing a wary kiss against her forehead.

"Christine, what about walking is bringing tears to you?" I calmly asked.

She sniffled again, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

"My last fiancee died...he was hit by a carriage when we were crossing the road. I was going to have my wedding dress picked out...Erik, promise you aren't going to walk!"

I sighed, shaking my head sadly. If her fiancee died in a carriage accident, how many other tragedies had the poor lady endured?

"I already said I would promise, but it doesn't mean I like it. I prefer not to be my foppish cousins in their dandy carriages," I musingly replied. At last, she collapsed back onto the bed, exhausted.

"Can we please sleep a few more hours? It's not even dawn yet...the wedding's at 4..." she moaned.

I rolled my eyes, smirking softly.

"Father always made me get up before dawn...you'll have to get used to it." I replied with a hint of amusement. Before I could leave, she once more grabbed my shirt, now my collar, and held on.

"Please Erik? Do you want me to be half asleep at the wedding?" Christine objected.

I scowled, knowing there was no way to win with Christine, and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up to my neck.

Her fingers slipped onto my shoulders as she began to rub them gently.

"What?" I growled in annoyance.

"You're no fun." she teased, her eyes locked upon mine. Her gentle hands moved to my chest as she began unbuttoning my shirt.

Fear began to flow through me. Was she seriously still trying?

"Christine, stop, please..." I whispered. She shook her head, and I could see the hurt.

Hurt? What had I done, except abstain myself from any gestures before marriage? My father would be looking down on me in shame at this point...

"I mean it, stop, Christine. I won't do this, I can't-"

She cut me off.

"Stop saying can't, and won't. Do you love me as I love you?" she argued.

"I do love you, but, Christine..."

"Then trust me...just _trust_ me."

.::.

**Christine**

Meg carefully worked at the corset, making it tight enough that the beautiful gown could fit over me.

She then stopped for a moment, staring at my face, before her nose scrunched up.

"What happened to your lips?" she gasped, handing me a mirror.

She was right, they looked a little enflamed, and sore.

"Kissing happened..." I quietly murmured. She grinned at me, a mix of cockiness and immature humor.

"Only kissing?"

She tightened the corset a little bit.

"Some touching happened, not much else." I answered my best friend amusingly.

"Ah-huh, and what about-"

"Meg!" I scolded teasingly, cutting her off from saying what I knew was coming. She giggled hysterically.

"We twirled for a while, and then left to get ready," I corrected her in a less suggestive demeanor.

She shrugged.

"I've heard twirling is quite the heat these days," she joked, that cocky grin still on her face. I rolled my eyes, before holding my arms up to have the dress fit over my body gently.

It was beautiful, the dress. It was white with sparkles spiraled about it, and white roses across it. It was a wonderful dress, with an equally as wonderful veil.

"Yikes! The wedding starts in twenty!" she cried, looking at a clock.

"How long does it take to get the chapel!?" I asked nervously.

"Twenty! C'mon Christine, we gotta go!"

Meg took my hand, carefully leading me down the stairs to the carriage of our own. I hoped we could make it in time...I did not want to embarrass Erik on our special day.

.::.

**Erik**

It was a minute before the wedding, and Meg and Christine were nowhere to be seen.

Raoul leaned over in his boredom, and whispered, "So why are you shrinking under your collar? You got love bites?"

I bit my cheek, a little annoyed.

"Not your business, Raoul." I replied irritably.

He let out what seemed like an amused, yet quiet, chuckle, before he gestured to the door.

"I think I hear your bride now." Philippe mumbled. Just as we did so, the doors slammed open, Christine looking frazzled as ever.

I raised my eyebrows, wondering what on earth had driven her this mad, before she regained her posture and quietly strolled down the aisle. It wasn't a big wedding, we chose not to hire ourselves a large guest list.

As the boring priest began to speak, Christine leaned in slightly, and whispered, "Sorry about the delay. It took a while to get the dress on."

"Not a problem. I only had to deal with my bland cousins' bickering."

My response made her smile as she stifled and withheld from laughter. This brought a pleasant smile of my own.

"Do you, Erik Mulheim, take Christine Daae as your lawfully wedded wife, through times of sickness and health, only through death shall you part?"

I straightened up a bit.

"I do." I calmly said.

"And do you, Christine Daae, take Erik Mulheim, as your lawfully wedded husband, through times of sickness and health, only through death shall you part?"

She did not hesitate to respond.

"I do."

The priest took a step back, and then nodded.

"You may kiss the bride."

Gently, we faced each other, as I soaked in her beauty, unraveling the veil from her face, before cupping her cheeks gently.

Our eyes fluttered shut as we kissed, more beautiful than we had ever kissed before.

She was no longer the shy girl, she was no longer my best friend, or fiancee, she was _my wife_, and this was our fairytale ending...


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Don't hate me for this chapter please...:(**

.::.

**Christine**

Erik placed my hand on his shoulder, our free hands entwined, as he placed his other on my waist.

"Don't tell me, you've forgotten how to dance?" he teased softly. I giggled.

"I had the best tutor, of course not." I musingly responded.

The ballroom music had slowed a bit. It had been a long time since I had seen this ballroom even in use.

It was true, that the wedding was small, but the reception afterwards, we had allowed guests to come in celebration, and soon the room was nearly full.

With one hand, Erik let me have a swift, quick twirl, before we resumed our appropriate posture. He was grinning, and I had never seen him so delighted, except our dance as children years ago.

"I love you, Erik," I whispered in his ear softly. A faint smile crossed his face.

"I love you _more_." he cooed enticingly, his lips pecking my cheek gently.

Suddenly, I was ripped away from him. The smell of alcohol intoxicated my nostrils as I struggled in this newcomer's grip.

_"My turn, monsieur,"_ the man growled.

It was Josef Buquet! How had he gotten through the entrance, past the guards?

Madly, the man swerved me around in a drunken, mad dance.

"Let her go, you filthy drunkard!" Erik snapped, lunging forward and smashing his fist across the back of Buquet's thick, fat skull.

To my surprise, even though the man immediately shoved me onto the floor, he didn't seem affected. The music came to an abrupt stop, as I hesitated on the ground in fear.

"She was mine, she belonged to me, and you took her away! You dumb monster!" Josef howled.

"Erik, Josef, both of you, stop! Please!" I sobbed.

There was a pause, and Erik dropped his guard, beginning towards me to help me up. But Buquet wasn't satisfied.

Buquet rammed into Erik, knocking him to the ground, as the two struggled. The guests around us were leaving in despair and horror...why was no one helping my husband!?

As soon as Buquet got a grip on Erik's mask, the remaining crowd bolted, revealing his face.

I could hear the flick of a blade, and I screeched in horror as Erik struggled. I moved to help him, and pounded my fists on the horrible man's back as hard as I could...

Both men were raised off the floor, Erik weakly.

"Come on then, monster, fight for her, or are you a coward?"

Buquet pointed the knife at me, and in Erik's rage, my husband moved to kill, only, it was too late. Buquet quickly swung his arm around, lodging the knife in his hip...and would not let go.

Erik stood in silence, a low cry escaping his lips, before collapsing on his knees, when I screamed in horror.

My nightmare was coming true...except, he wasn't hit by a carriage, no, he had been stabbed by the jealous stagehand.

Philippe and Raoul's attention quickly was aroused, where Philippe withdrew a gun and pointed if at Buquet's head.

"Leave, or I'll pump you full of lead!" Philippe snapped, finger on the trigger.

Buquet took no heed, laughing maniacally as he jerked and ran off.

I heard a clang as the knife hit the ground, and guests were madly running about, terrified by the violence and fearing their own lives...it was madness. My perfect wedding had been ruined...

"Ch-christine..." Erik gurgled. I could see the blood staining the murderous weapon...he had been stabbed deep in his hip.

I began to move towards him, but Raoul stopped me.

"Christine, don't go near him, he needs a doctor, and fast. Go to Madame Giry." he whispered. In his eyes, I could see nothing but fear and horror as well. I almost had forgotten that despite their constant arguing, that Raoul was protective of his elder cousin, and vice versa.

I nodded wearily, the last image of my husband in the now empty ballroom being him crying my name as his blood pooled all over the wooden floor. As soon as I reached Madame Giry, I hysterically began to sob into my hands.

"Why today? Why today!?" I sobbed loudly.

I felt my daughter, Aria, dig her face into my dress and began to cry. Only then, did I break my own tears to scoop her into my arms and let her cry onto my shoulder. Madame Giry pulled us both into a hug, and all three of us cried together, praying that Erik would not be dead by tomorrow.

.::.

**A/N: Did I not warn y'all that you would hate this chapter? Eh, can't always have fluff, can we?**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Okay, I know for certain y'all are gonna hate me for this...uhh, fluff will start again next chapter...this one I may/may not tear your heart out and stomp on it...**

.::.

**Christine**

My heart was aching as I tucked my little girl into bed, all I could think of was how awful it was when Erik had been so brutally stabbed...I could hear the doctors tending to him down the hall. For all I knew, he could be dead in a few seconds.

"Mama," Aria whimpered, "is Papa gonna be okay?"

I bit the corner of my lip, not sure how to respond.

"Sweetheart, I'm sure he'll be fine." I lied, but on the upside hoping I was right. Only time could tell.

I kissed her forehead sweetly, but Aria was still upset. She tugged on my sleeve gently, and I sat back down on her bedside. She was wide-eyed as she looked up to me.

I only felt inner pain...I loved this child...I loved Erik, too. I wished, oh how I wished, Erik was actually her father. I knew it pained him that the child wasn't his...and I knew it pained him to know I had been engaged to someone else.

"Sing me a lullaby, please Mama, and I'll go to sleep," Aria whispered, blinking her beautiful blue eyes.

I thought long and hard for a sing to sing, before I cleared my throat.

_"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try. When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart back and be free...if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me..."_

I stopped after the second verse, finding my child was asleep. At last, there was a little peace. I left her bedside quietly, one quick glance over my shoulder. Aria would be alright.

I shut the door as quietly as I could, heading down the upstairs hall, before noticing Madame Giry and Meg sitting outside the bedroom with Raoul. The door was shut, I could only assume Philippe was inside with the doctors. They were talking in a hushed manner, and I could see Madame was crying silently, tears coating her face.

"What's wrong? Did Erik...did he..." I stammered nervously.

"He's not dead, if that's what you're asking. We were just praying for him, and recalling fond memories to lighten the mood." Meg replied.

"Madame, are you alright?" I murmured softly, placing my hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

"I'll be alright, Christine. I just wish things had worked out between Charles and I...Erik is like a son to me. He could've been my son, but my foolish choices in life drove me away..." she sniffed.

I pulled the elder woman into a comforting hug. Gently, I rubbed her back as she cried into my shoulder, and tears began rolling down my cheeks.

"It's going to be okay...everything is going to be fine..." I cooed, but it was shaky and full of doubt.

The door swung open, and Philippe exited, talking with the doctors as they began to clear the room. I murmured comforting words to Madame Giry, before rushing to my cousin-in-law's side.

"Is Erik alright? Philippe, can I see him?" I desperately cried.

He gave me a mournful look, and fear fluttered throughout my chest. Oh god, was my worst nightmare actually coming true? Had Erik not survived his wound? And I hadn't received the chance to say goodbye...

"He's alive, but he isn't doing well... someone has to stay with him all night to watch over him...which means Raoul, we're not leaving the household tonight. We have to make sure that rotten stagehand isn't lurking about." Philippe explained cautiously.

"Erik's my husband...I should be the one at his side," I firmly responded, "please, Philippe."

Philippe had a silence about him, before he nodded, allowing me my privacy with my husband, and shut the door behind me.

"Lock it, please, until morning when the doctors return. Just keep an eye on him," Philippe called through. I replied with a "Yes" and locked the door with the ca-chink of the doorknob.

I crept to Erik's bedside, where strands of moonlight revealed his face, unmasked, and pale from stress and blood loss, no doubt.

"Erik?" I whispered tearily. Oh, how horrid he looked in this terrible condition.

His eyes flitted half-open, and he let out a sort of moan.

"Ch-Christine..." he weakly uttered, trying to sit up, but I gently pressed him back down.

Gently, I pulled back the covers to look at the bandages. His hips were thickly coated in the white coverage, and it didn't seem to require changing at the moment.

Carefully, I wrapped the covers around his neck.

"I ruined our wedding, didn't I?" Erik whispered, hurt and distraught.

"No! No, Erik, it wasn't your fault. Don't think this was your fault. Nothing is ruined...Shh-shh, shh..."

I pressed a hand to his forehead, to find it was burning hot. I grabbed the cup of water on the nightstand, coaxing him to drink it. Thirstily, he sipped it down, but collapsed tiredly on the bed.

"Christine...Christine..."

"Yes, darling?"

He cleared his throat, and I could hear the agony in his words.

"The doctors don't think I'm going to live past a week." he toiled.

My heart wrenched in two. Erik...Erik was due to die? In only a week? Had Buquet stabbed him that hard, that he had lost too much blood and would never recover?

"No," I growled, "you're not allowed to die. Do you hear me? You can't die."

"I can't cheat death, Christine, I'm not immortal."

"You are an angel, Erik. Angels cannot die...you're my angel..." I sobbed, burying my face into his covered side, weeping hysterically.

I could hear Erik's sobbing and I's begin to overlap one another, and for hours, all we did was cry, and cry...

I couldn't lose him. I couldn't, I wouldn't. He was my Angel, and as I learned from my father, Angels cannot die, and this one wouldn't leave my side...


End file.
